What exactly is Neo? And What Exactly Is Futurism?

The First Time



The first time I auditioned for the Neos was in 2003 or 2004. The first audition of theirs that I was aware of. I'd seen their show maybe a half dozen times and I knew that I wanted to work with them. But I had no idea what they were looking for at an audition.

Having no other guidance, I went to my audition, using the rules of a good audition that I was taught in college. I wore khaki pants and a nice, button-down, light-blue blazer. My hair was neatly cut. My headshots was the best one that I had. (The Superman Headshot. I know. It's a terrible headshot. I didn't know that, then.)

My audition piece was a memorized Buddhist koan that I liked. The one about the tiger chasing the monk, who jumps over a cliff to escape the tiger. The monk grabs a branch to keep from falling to his death, but immediately sees two mice, one black, one white, nibbling at his branch. He knows that if he climbs up, the tiger will kill him. If he lets go, he will fall to his death. If he holds onto the branch, the mice will nibble away at it and he will fall to his death. He sees a wild strawberry growing out of the cliff face and he plucks it and eats it and remarks at how sweet and juicy it tastes.

A nice story. A lovely image. Absolutely useless as a Neo audition piece.

I walked in that room as a kid, just a few years out of college, absolutely clueless, recited that koan with as much passion as I possibly could and walked out of that room, a failure. It was a forgettable audition. I didn't write the piece. It wasn't about me. It wasn't about anything, but the abstract image of the fragility of life and that's not a very strong hook to hang your hat on.

At the time, I didn't know why what I did was so wrong, but I did understand without question, that it was wrong.

I sincerely doubt that any of the people who were in that room with my first audition for them, even remember that audition at all.

This Time.



This time, I was better prepared.

The new headshot was cleaner, more attractive, more representative of who I am and how I am trying to sell myself. (The charming rogue in the fedora, pictured above.) My resume has Chicago institutions on it. VG. Second City. IO. The Playground. Shows I've been in. Shows I've directed. Skills that I've picked up.

The audition piece was better. Here's what I did. I entered the room wearing my own pajama top, carrying a small blanket. I set a table and a chair and this was my introduction.
"I only have two minutes, so forgive me if I speed through this, but I want to try to get everything in before I run out of time. It occurred to me that the sad part about casting someone in a show or a troupe is that the phone call notifying the auditionee that they've got the part is shared between two people. Only the initial caller gets to hear the joy and elation that the auditionee feels to get this thing that he's worked really hard for. Everyone else misses out on that."
"To spare you that, I am going to attempt to recreate for you what I anticipate my reaction will be, when and if you cast me in your company. Does anyone here have a cellphone that I can use?"
Jay said that he had one. I handed him a slip of paper.
"That piece of paper has my actual cell phone number on it. At the beginning of the piece, could you call me? This is my actual cell phone." And I laid it on the table, which would stand in for my bed.
"Now then, I'm anticipating that the call might come on a Sunday morning, tomorrow possibly, and I might sleep in tomorrow until at least this time. So, I'm wearing my actual pajamas and this is an actual blanket from my bed and my actual alarm clock. And I will try to recreate for you now, what I think that call will go like." And I sat at the table, and lowered my head down and pulled the blanket over me and pretended to be asleep.
Jay called me and my phone rang. The James Bond Theme. Because that's what my actual ring tone is, right now. I answered groggily.
"Hello? Who is this?"
"It's Jay. From the Neo-Fut urists-"
"What time is it, Jay?" And I looked at my actual alarm clock. "It's almost noon. I was sleeping in. What's up?"
"We want to cast you in the company."
And I shot bolt upright and exclaimed "No way! No fucking way! That's excellent. Thank you, thank you, thank you! That's wonderful! Thank you so much!"
"No problem." he said.
"Listen, Jay, I want you to know that I am ready for this. I am ready to give 100% to this. And I really appreciate this opportunity. I want you to know that I am taking this seriously."
"That's cool," he said.
"Is Greg there?" I asked.
"Uh, yeah. Yeah he is."
"Tell him I said, Hey"
Jay leaned over, looked at Greg and said, "He says Hey". Greg said, "Hey back at him" and Jay said, "He says Hey back at you."
I switched into D-bag mode.
"Well, that's cool. Thanks for calling me. I guess I'll just come see the show and we'll talk about this whole process and like when I'll play and whatever, ya know?"
"Yeah, that's cool." he said.
"Thanks for calling, Jay."
"No problem. Bye."
"Bye."
And we both hung up our phones. I immediately jumped back into show mode.
"That's how I think it would probably go. But I don't want you to feel like you're obligated in casting me in the company just because of all of that. So, I would now like to show you what it would look like if you DO NOT call me and cast me in the company." And I seated myself at the table and covered myself with the blanket.

For a second, nothing happened, and that got a few laughs from the house. But then, I pressed play on the ipod hidden in my pocket and from the speaker hidden in my shirt, the clear sound of Edith Piaf singing "Non, je ne regrette rien" came out from under the blanket. I slowly produced a fresh, red rose that I'd hidden there, as well and pulled it up to my nose and sniffed it and quietly wept to myself. (As a clever aside, the title of that particular piece translates to "I regret nothing", which was the message that I was trying to send to the group. "Regardless of the outcome, I regret nothing. I did the best I could." I dunno if anyone there caught that.)

Before this got old, I sat upright and said, "Curtain. That is my audition piece. Thank you for seeing me. And thank you, Jay, for calling me. And for this lovely lady right here", and I handed Heather my rose. They laughed a bit and thanked me and I collected my things and left there.

The whole thing took under two minutes. I know because I timed it several times before I got there and my nerves were getting to me and I was even faster, when I hit the stage.

As I was walking out of the room, I saw a wide, wet circle of my forehead sweat on the table, where I'd laid my head. I was sweating like a hostage, up there.

I went back into the lobby and filled out the application sheet that was supposed to go with my resume, headshot and writing samples. Honestly, that took me nearly twenty minutes as I struggled to get the right balance of "informative" and "whimsical" on that application.

One of the questions said, "On a scale of 1 - 10, how reliable would people say that you are?" I put down a 9. Because I thought, "Any person who puts down a 10 on an audition application is either A.) lying to get the gig or B.) A total asshole who doesn't know how people really view him. Life is complicated. Nobody can be a 10 in actual practice. As close as I can get is a 9." So that was my answer.

Looking Back.

I honestly have no idea how I did. Or what my audition did or didn't do for them. I don't really know what those guys are looking for in an audition. The whole process strikes me as some sort of artificial crucible set up to mortar and pestle the potential company members. It's not an accurate representation of the work that those guys do. Onstage, they're rarely alone. They have other players to rely upon to help get their message across. To perform their piece. And they're performing for a house full of happy, excited audience members who've paid to see the Neo's succeed at their given goal. The auditors were scattered around the house, impossible to make any sort of actual eye contact with and for the most part, very imposing in their attitudes.

Given these circumstances, I can only guess what they're looking for from their auditionees.

Honesty?
Charm?
Charisma?
Comedic Timing?
Sexiness?
Authority?
Confidence?
A Carefree Demeanor?

Do they want to think? To laugh? To be involved? To see their own show emulated or something absolutely original? To be shocked? Surprised? Delighted? Or amused?

I feel like I was given two minutes to pick a lock using tools that were only verbally described for me, one afternoon, two weeks ago. And when I left the room, the lock looked exactly the same as when I entered it and I know that 60+ other people were taking a turn at picking the same lock that I was.

It's been two days since the audition and I haven't heard anything. I don't think that I am going to hear anything at all. I think that the calls for callbacks probably went out today to 10 or 12 young hopefuls. And I wasn't one of them.

The frustrating part is... I don't know what I could've done differently to affect the outcome more positively. The piece that I designed was the smartest, most charming, most honest piece that I could've performed. I REALLY DO want to work with these guys. And I can't communicate that more clearly than to just say it.

I don't know how to sell myself any better than I did. I wish I had a little more feedback on what they were looking for. That would be helpful.

In the end, it doesn't really matter. I am so happy with my current improv troupe. I love them all very dearly and was hating the idea of leaving them to go pursue this other prospect. Beyond that, playwrights and directors around my theater are getting the idea that I'm good with words on their stage. One resident playwright wants to use me for all her work. Another one is asking me to read his scripts and give him notes. Another director heard me read for the first time this weekend past. And another director in another company, altogether, has expressed interest in me for a lead part in his show, later this season, at his theater.

I have opportunities ahead of me. And those are just the ones that I know about. So, if I don't get this gig, I'll go and pursue these other avenues and see what's down them. (Developing new plays? Getting credit for being the first cast to present a show? Paid performances?) And when the Neos have another audition, two or three years down the road, I'll come in again, tired props in hand, ready to take another crack at picking that lock.

Maybe I'll be able to open it then. If not, I can always try again two or three years after that.

Merrily We Roll Along,
Mr.B



PS. I promise that this is the last bit of grumbling that you'll hear me mention about this audition. As disappointment venting goes, it wasn't all that bad.